The Diamantine Visitor
by Bekki Beekeeper
Summary: The Doctor arrives in a street under diamond stars in the middle of a very significant night, except he hasn't quite realised it yet. Oneshot. Tenth Doctor


**Title:** The Diamantine Visitor  
**Fandom:** Doctor Who  
**Summary:** The Doctor arrives in a street under diamond stars in the middle of a very significant night, except he hasn't quite realised it yet. One-shot. Tenth Doctor (1,356 words)

_**Disclaimer:** All the original stuff's mine but the really cool stuff isn't!_

**The ****Diamantine Visitor**

The street was dark and cold and silent. Diamond stars shone strongly in a coal-black sky and charcoal shadows skirted soundlessly around the dim pools of gaslight on the pavement. Yet despite the stillness the air was full of expectancy; the residents of the old terraced houses with their dishevelled front lawns slept one final sleep before the dawning of a long-awaited day.

Abruptly the silence was invaded by a distant roar, growing louder like an approaching storm. A disembodied light – so incongruous, yet strangely unnoticeable to the casual eye – painted the street an intermittent blue until beneath it had appeared a tall blue box.

With a gentle creak its door opened; out of that tall blue box stepped a mysterious figure in a long, tan coat and a sharp pinstripe suit. On his feet were a pair of shoes never before seen in that century, and in his hand was a small cylindrical object that would not even be conceived of for many more.

The Doctor headed straight towards the house directly ahead of him. He darted a look up and down the street before pressing his sonic screwdriver against the door. On the other side, the latch slowly lifted and he made his way into the house.

Once inside, the Doctor stowed the screwdriver away in one of his many pockets. He stood quite still for several moments, listening in the darkness of the hall; then his ears found the tell-tale sound he had been looking for.

He moved towards the noise, into the living room, treading softly. The fire was burning low in the grate. Even in the dim light the Doctor could see the room contained very little: just two chairs, a rug, a bookcase and the fireplace. A ceramic figurine – a mother holding her newborn infant – took pride of place on the mantle.

The Doctor crouched in front of the fireplace, studying the flickering embers and listening even more closely than before. He was sure this was the right flue; so, standing up again, he leaned across the mantelpiece to press his ear against the chimney breast. There was a scuttling, crackling kind of sound somewhere above.

"Oh, no, you don't," the Doctor muttered and sprinted back into the hall, taking the stairs two at a time and hurrying (still as quietly as he could) into the room directly above.

It was a child's bedroom. A toy chest was open beneath the window with its contents scattered around; the shelves held a few books and charming little pictures hung on the walls in tarnished frames. Two small teddy bears watched over their young mistress, who was sound asleep in her bed.

The room was cold; the fire had burnt down long ago and the coals were dead to the touch with no warmth in them; but there was a glow – a very subtle glow – as though they had only been alight a moment before. The Doctor shrugged off his coat and threw it near the door, where it landed in a heap. Then he put one foot into the grate and plunged his head up into the flue.

There was a quiet whirring as he directed the sonic screwdriver upwards – not to light up the dark, vertical passage (for he had his eyes closed against falling soot) but to draw to him the source of the scuttling sound. He stayed there for a full minute, standing very still; he emerged spluttering and coughing but clutching his prize nonetheless.

At first glance, it looked like another piece of coal, perhaps one that had by some strange fortune been lodged part way up the chimney; but of course it was something far more remarkable. The Doctor put on his glasses and inspected it closely. It wriggled between his fingers but he did not loosen his grip.

"Oi," he said, sternly. "Stop struggling. I know you're trying to shed your shell but you can't do it in someone's house. It's dangerous."

The coal-creature crackled at him.

"I know it's nice and hot up there but you can't just go exploding in people's chimneys–"

"Excuse me, sir," came a little whisper; "but who are you talking to?"

The Doctor turned, startled. Sitting up in bed was the little girl who had been asleep when he had first entered the room. She had been woken by the Doctor's noisy emergence from the hearth and was now staring at him with intense curiosity.

"What?" he said. "Oh." He gave an unexpected dazzle of a smile. "Just my pet rock."

She looked at him, more puzzled than ever, and he waved the coal-creature around for her to see.

"But rocks don't have shells," the girl replied. "Anyway, that's a lump of coal, that is."

"Ah, but is it?" the Doctor answered her. "Lumps of coal don't have shells any more than rocks do, you know."

The girl stared at him a moment longer; then she giggled. "I never knew Father Christmas would be so strange!"

"Sorry?" said the Doctor at once. "It's… Christmas!" he added, spotting the threadbare stocking at the foot of the bed. "Of course it is!"

"Why, yes! Isn't that why you came down the chimney? I have been a terribly good girl this whole year."

"I'm sure you have," the Doctor replied. He paused a moment, his gaze flicking around the room, taking in the worn furniture and sparse scattering of belongings. Suddenly his features lit up again and then, just as unexpectedly, he sat down in the middle of the floor.

"Come and help," he beckoned. "Come on! And fetch my coat while you're at it. It's over there, by the door."

The girl didn't hesitate. She tossed aside the bedclothes and leapt out at once. She hurried over the bare floorboards (taking no notice of the winter chill), gathered up the Doctor's coat and sat down opposite him.

"What must we do?" she asked, reverting to her original hushed tones.

"We need to introduce a little warmth," the Doctor told her. "Our little carbon friend is about to move on to his final state of being but he needs warmth to do it. Hold my coat ready – that's it – now lean forward, close your eyes, and blow some hot air over him."

She dutifully obeyed. The Doctor, who still clutched the coal-creature in one hand, quickly flicked a few sonic bursts over it from his screwdriver. He quickly stowed it away in his jacket pocket before the girl opened her eyes. Then he said,

"Now wrap him up – nice and quick – there!"

They had bundled the creature up in the very depths of his coat. The Doctor looked across at the girl and whispered, "Count back from twelve."

She whispered back, "Why twelve?"

"Twelve Days of Christmas," he told her, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. The girl answered, quite seriously:

"Oh! Of course."

So she counted as he had asked her, and the bundle seemed to grow warmer and warmer as the numbers went by. When she had finished they slowly unfolded the coat with all the anticipation of unwrapping a present. And there, in the centre of the material, sparkled a small and very beautiful diamond.

The Doctor's eyes sparkled. "Merry Christmas, sweet Maria," he murmured, and pressed the gem into her hand. "Use it well – because if you don't, I'll know, you know."

Maria nodded solemnly despite his toothy grin and soot-covered face. "Yes, sir."

And the Doctor stood up, put on his coat, smiled at her again and bowed himself out of the room. Maria ran to the window. There, in the middle of the road, stood a wooden police box. She heard the front door of the house click shut and watched as the Doctor strode down the front path and onto the street towards it. He reached the police box and disappeared inside. There was a moment's pause and then – to Maria's wide-eyed amazement – both box and Doctor vanished from sight.

"My," she said to herself, astonished. "And I thought he rode on a sled!"

**The End.**


End file.
